


Largesse

by Doranwen



Category: A Little Princess - Frances Hodgson Burnett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Friendship, Gen, Misses Clause Challenge, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doranwen/pseuds/Doranwen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years down the road, Sara contemplates her future and the future of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Largesse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivamus (oulfis)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oulfis/gifts).



> Much thanks go to Aile, Hsifeng, Naraht, AdaptationDecay, ivy, and the hippos of #yuletide. I had many questions on details that the book did not provide, and they were extremely helpful.
> 
> I have deliberately chosen **not** to deal with the many issues of race and class that the book itself contains. This fic is intended more as a continuation of canon rather than a deconstruction of it.
> 
> If you're interested in learning more about coming out and presentations at court, see [the Wikipedia article on "debutante"](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Debutante#United_Kingdom).

"Did you hear about Lavinia's coming-out party? I heard it was a scandal," Ermengarde announced. It was a delightful spring afternoon, and Ermengarde was "next door" on one of her usual visits. Today she had more animation than usual, and her round face framed wide eyes and a large grin.

"She had a coming-out party? It must have been recent; this is the first I've heard of it," Sara replied with a look of surprise.

"A scandal? What kind o' scandal?" Becky's face matched Ermengarde's for eagerness, and she leaned forward as if to catch every detail.

"If it's to be a story, please tell it from the beginning," Sara requested. "Stories are ever so much better when you tell them that way." She positioned herself slightly forward to give Ermengarde full attention.

"Well, I heard it from Almira, and she heard it from Margaret," Ermengarde began. "The sleeves were really puffy at the top, and tighter by the wrists, and her waist was so tiny--everyone thought she must have tightlaced!" she paused to take a breath, "and the skirt was made with lots and lots of cloth."

"That's just the clothes," Becky said with a slightly scornful tone. "What about the scandal?"

"Hush, Becky, she'll get to that part soon enough," reprimanded Sara. The mild scolding had the effect it was designed for; Becky closed her mouth.

"What I heard was she was sweet on James Whiston, and told everyone he would be at her party." Ermengarde paused for dramatic effect.

Becky couldn't contain herself. "An' was he?"

"No, he never came. Almira said she heard Lavinia spent the whole evening sulking. Robert Clarke overheard her telling Jessie he followed her around like a puppy, and that he wasn't half the man James is. They had a terrible row."

"My eye, miss!" Becky gasped.

"It's marvelous! I heard Lavinia is in complete disgrace." Ermengarde was perfectly delighted. Lavinia had not grown any kinder over the years, and without Sara to run interference, she had had to put up with a good deal of nastiness.

Sara's mouth twitched in a smile, but she clamped down on it--a princess would not gloat at her enemy's misfortune. "Poor Lavinia," she commented.

Becky's forehead knit into a frown. "Can't say I feel sorry for 'er. After how nasty she were to us . . ." Ermengarde's face showed her agreement with Becky.

"Well, she must be dreadfully unhappy, don't you think? She has no **true** friends but Jessie, and I don't believe that Jessie is the sort of friend to her that you are to me. She has made herself so nasty to everyone that she has no one who truly cares about her. That's worse than I ever was. Even in the Bastille, I had you as a fellow prisoner and a visitor. Lonely is worse than anything else." And it didn't matter so much that your friends were going through the same misery, even; it was still miserable. Sara decided that was perhaps not the best comment to make at present.

Becky was silent. Ermengarde looked thoughtful. "Sara, when are **you** going to be presented? You've learned enough to be done with school." Her tone of voice spoke of the wondrous thing it would be to not have more knowledge forced into you.

Sara didn't answer for a minute, her eyes growing contemplative. "I don't know," she finally answered.

"But don't you want to have callers? They'll be dying to come visit!" Ermengarde seemed shocked at the idea that anyone wouldn't want gentlemen callers.

"That's why I don't know," Sara replied. "How should I know if a man wants to court me for who I am, or if he's more interested in my money?"

Ermengarde couldn't fathom this concept. "But if you never have callers, how will you ever marry?"

Sara leaned her chin into her palm, propping it with her elbow. "I'm not sure if I want to." Silence met her comment, and both other girls stared at Sara.

* * *

That evening, Becky was off running a quick errand, and Sara and Mr. Carrisford were seated by the fire. His nose was buried in a book on the Roman Empire, and Sara had the latest book on French history open on her lap. She did not, however, truly see the words in front of her. After some time staring into the flames, she finally spoke up. "Uncle Tom?"

"Yes, my little princess?"

Sara giggled some. "I'm not so little anymore," she reminded him. Years had added inches to her height since she had first come to live with him, and her frame had filled out, both from having a proper diet and growing into a woman, though she was still slender.

"My grown-up princess, then." He smiled to match hers. "What's on your mind?"

"Do I **have** to be presented at court?" she asked.

He blinked. "You don't want to? All the proper young ladies do it."

Sara looked pensive for a minute. "I don't want to be courted by anyone yet."

"You don't feel you're ready for that?"

Sara shook her head mutely, then stared into the fire awhile. Mr. Carrisford was about to open his book once more when she continued, "What if I don't want to get married?"

He turned to face her, studying her serious face. "If that's what you want, then that's what you can do, Sara. I would never make you do something that would make you unhappy."

A look of relief spread over her face, and Sara glanced down at her book before continuing. "What about you?"

"Me?" he laughed.

"Well, have you ever wanted to get married?" she asked.

He leaned his chin into his hand lightly. "I thought about it when I was younger, but I was too busy making a fortune to take the time to get to know women."

"What about now? Have you ever been lonely for one?"

"Lonely, me? Maybe when I was searching for you and could not find you. But how could I ever be lonely with you around?" Sara grinned at that remark. "I've grown quite used to life as it is. It would take an unusual woman to belong with us."

Sara nodded in agreement. Not many women of their class would fit into a family where the servants were dear friends. The thought niggled at her. "Has Ram Dass ever married?"

"I don't believe he has. He would have had to leave her behind when he came to take care of me."

Sara's head bobbed briefly, but her eyes didn't return to her book just yet, and she stared into the fire for a few more minutes before resuming reading.

* * *

"Ram Dass?" Sara called into the room from the doorway.

Ram Dass paused his chore. "Yes, Missee Sahib? What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering about your family. You've never spoken of them."

"It is a sad story, Missee Sahib. One summer when I was a young man, dysentery went through the city like wildfire. My parents and siblings did not survive it. It was after that that I found the job working for the Sahib."

Sara's eyes took in the features of Ram Dass' face. "You must miss them very much," she said after a few moments.

"It is the way life goes. I miss them, but I go on without them. And I am more fortunate than many of my fellow countrymen here in London." Ram Dass smiled at Sara.

Sara looked intrigued. "There are many more of you in London?"

"Oh yes, there are many of my countrymen studying at university, and one is even an MP. Many others are sailors on ships, and some are ayahs with families. Unfortunately, quite a few have been stranded here without a job; I am most fortunate to serve you and the Sahib."

Sara smiled fondly at him. "Life here would not be the same without you." She thought for a moment. "Do you go visit some of the others?"

"Sometimes. I bring them food; it is hard to survive without a good place."

The last comment drew a more pensive look from Sara. "Yes, I know," she replied quietly. "May I come sometime?"

"Anything the Missee Sahib wishes."

"I will bring food too." Sara smiled. _I can still scatter largesse to the populace_ , she thought happily.

* * *

"I jest don' understand, miss," Becky began, as she was tidying Sara's room, "why you don' want to get married."

Sara glanced up from the book she was studying. "Well, one reason is that I don't want someone else with the right to control my life. I am fortunate that Uncle Tom cares about me so much. If he did not, he could have squandered my money and left me destitute, or caused any number of horrible things to happen." Sara paused a moment. "But I also don't think I would find a man who truly loved me for me, and not for my money. And how could I ever marry without knowing for sure?"

"I suppose," Becky replied doubtfully.

"I would never prevent you from marrying if you wished to, Becky," Sara added, seeing the obvious wistfulness on Becky's face.

"Well, miss," Becky began, "I don't see that I could be leavin' you anytime, but I wouldn't mind havin' my own family sometime too. Jest think o' the darlin' babies . . ."

Sara grinned at her. "Babies are adorable, but I like older children just as well. Like Lottie, the age she was when I came to Miss Minchin's. Without the tantrums, of course."

Becky nodded sagely; her children would **never** have tantrums. She paused in the middle of hanging up a dress to ask, "Miss, what will you do with yerself if you ain't marryin'?"

Sara pursed her lips thoughtfully. "I'm not sure," she said after a minute.

* * *

It was a miserable, foggy London evening when Ram Dass told Sara he was going to visit his fellow countrymen.

Sara peered out the window. "You go in this weather?"

"This is when they need warm food the most, Missee Sahib," Ram Dass quietly pointed out, and Sara nodded with understanding.

Becky helped them prepare a large quantity of lentils and flat breads; Ram Dass carried the pot of dahl and the rotis, as well as a set of basic dishes out to the waiting carriage. Becky draped an extra wrap around Sara; "It's awf'ly chilly, miss."

They passed the long row of houses on their street, then a few grand houses, but soon the fancy homes gave way to smaller dwellings, and the brickwork grew shabbier and shabbier as they went on. Soon they came to the correct street, and Ram Dass and Becky helped Sara down from the carriage. At first just a couple Indian men came up to receive the food that Ram Dass and Becky dished out and Sara handed to them. It didn't take long till a line formed, men and women lined up and murmuring their thanks in broken English to Sara and Becky, and a few of them in Hindustani to Ram Dass. "I hope you enjoy it," Sara answered back in their native tongue, and received surprised and pleased looks from several.

A couple of the women stayed to chat with Sara (though poor Becky understood not a word), while Ram Dass visited with a few of his lascar friends. The cold and damp cut the conversations short, however, and it was not long before they were on their way home.

"Thank you for coming, Missee Sahib," Ram Dass said with a little bow as the carriage started moving.

"I'm glad I could come." Sara gave him a warm smile. "I remember what it was like to be cold and hungry, and I know how much they appreciate warm food." She watched the buildings go by for a minute, then turned her attention back to Ram Dass. "It was nice to talk with the ayahs; some of them reminded me of the ayah I had in India. I didn't know there were so many former ayahs living here," she commented with a hint of surprise.

"Far too many, I am afraid. It was good that you were there to talk with them. I have not chatted with any of the women myself."

Sara glanced at Becky; she recognized the look of incomprehension and translated for her. "Why hasn't he talked with them?" Becky was puzzled.

"Probably because it wouldn't be proper for him as a man and them as women. In India they're very particular about that. Their families would have to talk to each other if they wanted to get married."

"What if they don't got families?"

"That's a very good question." Sara pondered that much of the trip home.

* * *

It was the morning after one of the now-frequent trips bringing food to the Indians. "I think Ram Dass is sweet on one of the ayahs," Sara commented to Becky as she relaxed in a chair by the window.

"You think so, miss?" Becky's eyes were wide with delight. Matchmaking was always up her alley.

"It's the way he looks at her. He looks at her as if she were a beautiful painting that he just wants to gaze at," Sara confirmed. "It's too bad he can't court her."

"He ain't goin' to court 'er? Why not?" This didn't make sense to Becky.

"I think he needs someone to arrange it for him. Even without his family, he probably doesn't feel it would be right." Sara propped her chin on her hand and gazed out the window.

"Well, why don't you an' Mister Carrisford talk to 'er?"

Sara's head stilled for a few moments, then gradually rose back up. "That's a great idea, Becky! I'll ask him today."

Becky clapped her hands with a big grin. "Oh, laws, miss!" The thought of Ram Dass with a "Nindian woman" was too exciting.

"And I have an idea of something I want to do for the others," Sara continued.

"What's that, miss?"

"Well, what if there was a home for them? A place where the ayahs could live until they could get passage back to India? I could help start a home, and pay passage for them. It's miserable when you're a long long ways from home and family . . ." Sara trailed off.

Becky gently rested a palm on Sara's shoulder. The action drew Sara's head up and she gave Becky a warm smile. "You're a true friend, Becky." She rose up. "Come, let's go talk to Uncle Tom."

As they walked out of her room, Sara's eyes fell on Becky once more. "You know, Becky, I don't know what I shall do with my life, but I think I've got a start at it. If I am to be a princess, I want to scatter largesse as much as I can. And I'm old enough now that I can do more than just provide a few buns to hungry children. Maybe," she paused, struck with the idea, "maybe I'll even go to university someday."

"You can do anything you want to, miss," Becky said with a smile.

"Anything," Sara echoed softly, and smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> I took a few liberties with history. One website says: "An institution known as the Ayahs' Home was established in 1897 in Aldgate to accommodate ayahs who were waiting for a return passage to India." I decided to have Sara be one of the founders of this home. Other details I've researched as best I can. Hopefully it's reasonably accurate.


End file.
